This was Superior Court. People coming before the judge in this courtroom were not here for traffic tickets. Hardy left Freeman reading the file and stood, wandering up to the rail that separated the gallery from the principals.
The prosecutor Dean Powell tapped him on the shoulder. "I kind of expected you this morning."
"I thought I mentioned that David Freeman's got this one, Dean. There he is back there, doing calisthenics." Freeman was pulling on an ear, studying, oblivious to the world. "I'm mostly along for the ride."
"Freeman decide on a defense?"
"No, but Jennifer has. It's you r favorite."
"Not guilty? No insanity? Justifiable, even?"
"Mrs. Witt says she did not do any of it."
Powell nodded, poker-faced. But Hardy had the sense that he was delighted. "Yes, she did," he said.
Judge Oscar Thomasino, short brush-cut hair and swarthy complexion, had a no-nonsense demeanor in the courtroom over which he had presided for ten years. He had come in this morning with another of the surprises that marked life behind the rail.
"Before we begin today," he said, "is there someone in this courtroom driving a Green Chevy Lumina license number 1NCV722?"
An Hispanic male in his mid-twenties raised his hand and stood up in the third row of the gallery. Thomasino motioned him up through the bar rail. Reluctantly, the man complied, and the judge frowned down at him. "Did you happen to notice, sir, the large sign in the space you took outside that read Reserved for Presiding Judge?"
The young man bobbed and half-turned around, looking to the gallery for support. "Aw, come on, I'm in trouble now because I took your parking space?"
"Not precisely," Thomasino said, "although that's part of it. Your big problem is that the car is stolen." Thomasino directed the bailiff to take the man into custody. They would figure out what to do with him upstairs. The car had been towed to the City lot.
Hardy was still chuckling about it when they called Jennifer's line – her computer number. Hardy and Freeman then came through the bar rail. Dean Powell and a fresh-faced young assistant moved over from the jury box, and Jennifer Witt was brought out to the podium that faced the judge. Hardy thought that Jennifer, beaten down and deflated, looked very much like a defendant, but the jumpsuit could do that to Cindy Crawford. He introduced her to Freeman.
She took in her ragged attorney with something less than enthusiasm – a reaction he was accustomed to. She made a face at Hardy – this is my lawyer? – then faced the judge. As in all murder cases, the clerk read out the complete indictment.
"Jennifer Lee Witt, you are charged by indictment with three felony counts filed herein, to wit, violations of Section 187 of the Penal Code in that you did, in the City and County of San Francisco, State of California, on or about the 31^st day of August, 1993, willfully, unlawfully, and with malice aforethought murder Edward Teller Hollis." The clerk read the special circumstances, going on to add the charges regarding Larry and Matt Witt. When he had finished, Thomasino nodded toward the podium and said he assumed by the presence of Messrs. Freeman and Hardy that Jennifer was represented by counsel. He asked Jennifer how she was going to plead.
"Not guilty, Your Honor."
Making a note on his printout, Thomasino looked over his reading glasses, which were slightly tinted and half-moon shaped. "Mr. Powell. The people seek to deny bail?"
Powell stood up. "We do, Your Honor. This is a special circumstances case. The allegations are multiple murders and murder for profit. The defendant has already killed-"
"Your Honor!" Freeman was not having any of this. To date, it was not established that Jennifer had killed anybody. That was, after all, what this was about.
The judge scowled down at the prosecutor. "Mr. Powell, please."
Powell put on a show of contrition, but wasted no time getting the needle in.
"I'm sorry, Your Honor. But this is a death penalty case. The law provides that this defendant should be held without bail. Further, the People believe there is substantial risk of flight."
Freeman came back matter-of-fact. "Your Honor, Mrs. Witt will surrender her passport. She has never been accused, much less convicted, of any crime. There is no basis in Mrs. Witt's history or in fact for the prosecution's contention that there is a risk of flight. She has stayed in the City since December, and she must have had some inkling that she was under suspicion during that time. She did not resist arrest."
"All right, all right." Thomasino peered over his glasses. "Nevertheless, Mr. Freeman, at that time she was not yet charged with any crime, let alone three counts of capital murder. We've got a different situation now, wouldn't you agree?"
"Your Honor, Mrs. Witt did not commit these crimes and she is anxious to clear her name in court."
Thomasino almost smiled. "Yes. Well, she will get that opportunity, but I'm inclined to agree with the People that, facing the possibility of the death penalty she might at least be tempted to forgo that opportunity. And without any remaining ties to the community and no immediate family-"
"Your Honor!" Jennifer's voice was a surprise to everyone in the courtroom. Defendants were, after all, usually so intimidated by these proceedings, by being referred to in their own presence in the third person, that it rarely occurred to them that they could actually speak up themselves. Jennifer did. "I do have family here today."
Hardy turned around. In the second row a graying man who might have been Thomasino's brother was halfway to his feet. Another younger man looked as though he was thinking about getting up, too. Between the two sat a middle-aged woman.
Hardy also noticed something pass between Jennifer and a well-dressed bearded man a few rows farther back in the gallery. Who was he? And why didn't Jennifer make some kind of friendly gesture to her own father, brother, mother? She pointed them out to Thomasino in hopes that they might help her win bail, but she didn't so much as nod to any of them.
Thomasino recovered quickly. "All right, thank you. You folks back there, please be seated."
"If it please the court." Dean Powell was on his feet. "I'd like to ask Mrs. Witt about the last time she saw her family."
"Your Honor, please!" Hardy was sure that, like himself, Freeman had no idea what Powell was talking about, but he wasn't going to let such a request go unchallenged. They were a long way from trial here, and questioning the defendant was out of line.
"What are you getting at, Mr. Powell?"
"Your Honor, in the course of our investigation it's become clear that Mrs. Witt is not at all close to her family. In fact, they have been estranged-"
Freeman, from the hip, shot out. "And that's why they're here today, Dean?"
The gavel slapped down. "Mr. Freeman, you will address all your remarks to the court. Clear?"
"Of course, Your Honor, I'm sorry." Like most of Freeman's moves, this one was calculated. Get off a losing point, direct attention anywhere else, even if it got him a contempt warning. And taking Thomasino's reprimand gave him another few moments to think of something else. "But Mr. Powell should know better. Mrs. Witt's family is here today, obviously supporting her. What more do we need?"
Thomasino waved him down, cradling his hands over his gavel. "Mrs. Witt, your family's presence here is noted, but it doesn't change the law. This is a no bail case."
"Your Honor…" Freeman, one last time.
But Thomasino had had enough. The gavel came up with a judicial glare. He tapped it gently, then intoned, "Bail is denied."
5
In the hallway outside of Department 22 the gypsies had disappeared but there was still the usual hum of voices echoing off the bare walls.